


The Morning After

by Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Breaking Up & Making Up, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Kissing in the Sun, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: It's the morning after the wedding. Nick is hungover, Harry is persistent and somehow they end up right back where they started.





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot about the morning after Pixie and George's wedding, in which Harry and Nick revisit their past. Although this is a standalone fic as it is, I think I might have to add another fic to this universe, largely to appease my heart! I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading <3
> 
> As ever, although this fic is inspired by real people and real events it is very much a work of fiction. If you want to find me on Tumblr you can do so at [writsgrimmyblog](https://writsgrimmyblog.tumblr.com/)

_Take a bow, the night is over_  
_This masquerade is getting older…_  
_Say your lines but do you feel them_  
_Do you mean what you say when there's no one around…_

_I've always been in love with you_  
_I guess you've always known it's true_  
_You took my love for granted, why oh why_  
_The show is over, say good-bye_

It’s been a long time since the days they spent fucking through hot summer nights, joined at the hip. They’re finally _there_ , now. Where friends should be. Without any of the confusion and the miserable evenings wondering _what if_ and _maybe, just maybe_. Nick knows it’s better. He even managed a few (supremely terrible) relationships as he careered between Harry and not Harry. They were cathartic. He learned a few things about himself. Mainly that he’s going to end up living in a granny flat above Pixie and George’s house, taking selfies with George and pretending he’s Nick’s husband. It’s a brilliant idea. Perfectly healthy.

Things with Harry are just about okay again. Nick doesn’t need the crazy nights out after each new piece of speculation about Harry’s love life surfaces. A cold beer and a couple of hours off the internet does the trick now. He slaps on a smile and takes the piss out of Harry’s unattractive face, as the hole in his heart gets smaller and the ache fades away until it’s like the twinge of once broken bones when the weather changes. That reminder _I was broken, once, but I’m all fixed now_. Perhaps Harry’s just destined to be the person that reminds Nick that broken things don’t ever fully heal.

They’ve even moved beyond the stage of getting drunk, lonely and falling into bed together. Nick is very proud of his fortitude on that front. Too many times they came close. Harry being handsy and whispering _just one more time_ all hot breath, roving hands and hiding away in the shadows at another shit party. Nick’s learned how to handle Harry in those moments. He pushes him away and does his serious face. He pokes at Harry’s dimples or ruffles his hair. It’s a bit patronising. A bit _hey there, kid, why don’t you have some water?_ but it’s all Nick can manage. He’s too scared of what might happen if he gets maudlin or worse, angry. They do okay. They eat curry together in Nick’s bed and they can even cuddle up without Nick feeling like his heart’s going to jump out of his chest.

It’s fine, being Harry’s friend. Nick can handle getting warm when Harry gives him that smile or winks at him from across the room. He can cope with the way Harry makes him feel a bit like Icarus – standing too close to the sun until his wings melt right off. They’re better as friends, anyway. Harry’s young and he likes to shag a fit model or three. Nick’s starting to worry his wrinkles are breeding on his face and he definitely found a grey hair or two the other day. They’re at different stages. In another world, another time. Maybe then. Not now.

“You’re doing it again.” Harry is hungover, but unlike Nick he doesn’t look like a dead person. Instead, he looks fit and tanned. He’s got a towel slung over his crotch like a blanket and his face tilted up to the sun. 

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.” Harry’s lips curve into a smile as if _thinking_ and _Nick_ is a dangerous combination. Cheeky little shit, Harold is. It’s why Nick loves him and hates him all at the same time. He tips his glasses to the end of his nose and looks at Nick like he’s some old professor about to give Nick a ticking off. He needs his man bun back. That would complete the look perfectly. Nick hides his snicker at the thought and Harry keeps watching him. “You’re quiet.”

“How dare you.” Nick is, though and it’s not just the hangover. He adjusts his sunglasses on his nose, hoping they do a decent job of hiding the bags under his eyes after a big night. “I’m not an attractive young popstar. Wait until the morning after a night on the booze when you hit your thirties. Part of me feels like it’s still plastered to the dance floor and everyone’s do-do-doing the conga on my head.”

“Poor Grim.” Harry laughs, nudging his glasses back onto his eyes. He turns back to the sun, throat extended with a bead of perspiration journeying over his Adam’s apple. It looks as if he put it there on purpose – ready for a photography session with Vogue. Even Harry’s sweat is attractive. Really, Nick’s life would be much easier if Harry had a few boils on the end of his nose.

Nick sips his cocktail and lies back. It’s sweet and cold, one of those ridiculous _I’m on holiday_ drinks with loads of booze and exotic fruit. Nick particularly likes the glacier cherry and pink umbrella. Very laddy. It’s been ages since he’s had a glacier cherry. They remind him of being at home and he has a rush of missing all of it. Missing his mum. Missing his dad. Missing the cool rain and Northern accents. He shakes himself and has more booze, poking Harry in the side right where he knows Harry’s ticklish. Harry squirms away, huffing with laughter. 

“I’m drinking alone, Harold. I’m single, in my thirties, about to _die_ from my hangover and you’re no fun at all.”

“Didn’t know you wanted to have fun with me anymore.” Harry’s voice is slow and teasing, but there’s something sharper behind it. Something Nick isn’t sure his head’s working well enough to understand. “Trying to get me drunk, Grim?”

“Don’t have to try very hard.” Nick shrugs off the other comment. “One Dark and Stormy and you’re anyone’s.”

“Not quite _anyone’s_.” Harry turns over and rings for a cocktail with extra pineapple and Nick’s sure he does it just so his cocktail is more ridiculous than Nick’s. It’s nice, having a private terrace with his own pool. Nick’s left the door to the room open so anyone can come in, but he feels distinctly like people are avoiding him – or at least they have been since Harry came outside clutching his towel and commandeering the lounger beside Nick. He half wonders if he could Instagram a picture of the two cocktails side-by-side but it feels too obvious, somehow. A bit like the not so subtle message behind his love of a good album font and Madonna’s _Take a Bow_. _Make them laugh - it comes so easy - when you get to the part where you’re breaking my heart_. Harry never commented on the post and the world kept turning. Nick put away his Madonna ballads and turned his favourite song of the summer up to loud. Nick takes a picture of his legs. It’s about the only part of his body fit for the camera at the moment. He does the ‘model on a beach’ pose with his toes pointing upwards at the blue sky, making sure he captures his tattoos and doesn’t accidentally post a close up of his cock framed by damp swimming trunks. 

“I can’t believe they finally did it,” Nick says.

“Yeah.” Harry gets his cocktail and rustles around for a tip. He murmurs something to the waiter about closing the door on his way out and Nick tries not to think too closely about why Harry’s shutting people without keys out of their space. Harry sits up and takes a sip of his drink through the straw. Nick pretends he isn’t looking as Harry slurps around a bit of ice. It’s not at all appealing, watching Harry’s brow furrow when a piece of fruit blocks his straw, or seeing him sling his towel over his shoulders and poke about at the drink casting quick glances at Nick and then looking away again.

“You’re staring.” Nick feels a bit sleepy, the hangover and the sunshine making him drowsy. He’d be tempted to have a kip but he doesn’t trust Harry not to draw a knob on his chest or write _Sign of the Times_ or something just for a bit of shameless self-promo. Nick doesn’t want to spend the next few weeks waking up to Harry’s art work on his chest, thanks very much. It’s hard enough waking up to Harry singing on the radio. The last thing he needs is a semi-permanent tattoo of Harry on his skin.

“Just a bit.” Harry sounds sheepish. “Nick?”

“Yeah?” Nick’s heard begins to _thud, thud_ and he doesn’t feel so sleepy anymore. There’s nothing good that can come from Harry’s hesitant tone – from the way his words go soft and long around the edges. 

“Do you miss it? Do you miss me?”

Nick decides to go with the _I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about_ approach because he’s a mature adult and very good at dealing with matters of the heart. “Hardly. You’re right here. You spent _hours_ on the radio with me. So much they had to cut half of it. Bit difficult to miss someone who’s always hanging around.”

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat. He slurps his drink again. “Can’t believe they cut a whole hour.”

“Some of our best material,” Nick agrees.

“We were hilarious.”

“And charming,” Nick adds. “Don’t forget charming. They said we rambled on too much.”

“I can’t believe it.” Harry sounds like he’s smiling, his words light with it. “I never do that. Get right to the point, me.”

“I think it was that bit about sloths that did it. Too David Attenborough. Not really right for the target audience.”

“I love a sloth.” Harry sounds gloomy.

“Me too,” Nick agrees. “The listeners were well into the sloth mating call at one point. They’d have loved our sloth related chat. Maybe it was your joke that did it. Too much excellent humour for people to take of a morning.”

“Probably.” Harry’s toes seem to have found their way under Nick’s leg. Harry wiggles them a bit. It’s not at all distracting. “It was a good wedding.”

“I think I pulled a couple of muscles, I nearly lost the rings and I might have ended the night with a pillow on my head. Not to mention I woke up in a bed that wasn’t my own. Pretty good night all round, I’d say.”

Harry’s toes still. “You did?”

“Put a pillow on my head? Yeah, funny story-”

Harry makes a strangled sound. “No, you idiot. You pulled?”

Nick turns to look at Harry, shaking his head. “No, of course I didn’t pull. I woke up between Aimee and Ian. I think Ian hates me. He’s been giving me death stares all day. I drooled on his chest.”

Harry smiles and Nick’s glad he’s got his glasses on. It’s like looking right at the sun when Harry gives him that kind of look. “Oh. Well, good.”

“Who do you think I’m going to pull here? I’ve been mates with everyone for years.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Harry’s toes wiggle again. “Besides, I can think of someone.”

“Are you finding me a boyfriend now?” Nick sighs and turns back to the sun, closing his eyes. “Is this what it’s come to?”

“I was thinking…” Harry’s toes press into Nick’s thigh then disappear. The _scrape_ of a sun lounger being dragged along the floor sets Nick’s teeth on edge. Then he can feel the heat of Harry’s body next to his own, the light touch of fingers brushing against the hair on Nick’s chest. “I was thinking you could have pulled me.”

“Missed my chance then, didn’t I?” Nick’s voice comes out a bit unsteady, his chest rising and falling against Harry’s fingers which drag through his chest hair and make shapes on his torso. Harry better not move too much lower. Nick’s swimming trunks aren’t exactly the best for hiding an erection and if Harry gets wind that Nick’s enjoying this it’s game over.

“Nope. We’re still here for a bit. There’s today. Everyone’s sleeping it off or going drinking again. Perhaps you could use your bed. Seems a bit rubbish to let it go to waste. Your room is nice. It’s got air con and everything.”

“It’s okay as rooms go.” Nick swallows as Harry’s fingers slide lower. “Haz. Harry.”

“Grim. Nick.” Harry’s breath is warm like the sun on Nick’s skin. He rubs his thumb over Nick’s belly, the soft bit Nick’s been trying to get rid of for ages. He doesn’t usually like people touching him there but it’s always been okay with Harry. It’s always been okay to let Harry press his lips against every part of Nick. He’s a strange one, with his post-sex kissing. He likes to get right in an armpit or tongue along the lines of every tattoo. It’s like he has to explore every possible nook and cranny – every bruise and scar that marks out the years of being clumsy, being drunk. 

“Everyone can see,” Nick croaks. “You don’t want that.”

“There’s no one here.” Harry moves back a bit nevertheless, but his fingers still _tap, tap_ along Nick’s chest as if he’s walking a path with them, lower and lower to the point of no return. “Besides, this is your balcony. I got the waiter to close the door.”

“You and your evil plans,” Nick murmurs. He can’t help but shift up a bit towards Harry’s fingers. They stroke lower and slide under his waistband, just a little. It’s enough to make Nick harden a little in his trunks and he can tell by the way that Harry sucks in a breath that he’s been keeping a close eye on Nick’s traitorous body. “And stop looking at my prick. This is a perfectly normal reaction to being manhandled by a popstar when I’m hungover and my defences are down.”

“I’m not looking.” Harry is, though. Nick can practically feel his beady little eyes looking Nick up and down. 

“I feel like a piece of meat.”

“Never.” Harry pokes at Nick’s stomach. “Although I think you might be overcooking a bit.”

Nick curses and rummages around for the sun cream.

“I’ve got it.” Harry stills Nick. “Just…let me.”

Nick sighs and closes his eyes again. “Fine. Don’t pretend this isn’t just an excuse to have a bit of a grope.”

“I’m not going to.” Harry sounds like he’s grinning. The suntan lotion is cool on Nick’s skin and Harry’s hands are large and firm. He takes his time massaging the lotion into Nick’s stomach and up, over his shoulders and onto his neck. It’s both gentle and not and it drives Nick to distraction.

“Thanks.”

“Not finished yet.” Harry shifts away and then Nick can feel the same firm hands moving up his legs, travelling from ankle to thigh and disappearing under Nick’s shorts.

“There’s no sun on those bits, Harold.”

“There might be, though.” Harry sounds very serious, suddenly the expert in sun protection. “If you move and the shorts come up. Or if you take them off.” Harry squeezes his hand on Nick’s upper thigh and Nick has to bite back a groan.

“I’m not taking my shorts off, so you can get that idea out of your head. I don’t think anyone wants to see me sunbathing with my knob out.”

“I might.” Harry squeezes again before removing his hands and starting on Nick’s other leg. Nick’s definitely hard now, straining against his trunks. From Harry’s positioning he has a feeling he’s fairly close to poking Harry’s eye out and he curses under his breath.

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“What have I done?” Harry sounds delighted. He knows exactly what he’s done.

“You know what.” Nick shifts. “I’m going to have to go on my front.”

“Or,” Harry says, like someone in a bad porno, “or, I could just…help out.”

“Christ,” Nick says. He rubs his forehead and opens his eyes. Harry really is _right there_ eye to…well – eye-level with Nick’s cock. “We don’t do this anymore.”

“We could. I think we should.” Harry runs his hands over Nick’s shorts and then up again over his chest. The sun lounger is a bit wobbly and Nick’s not sure it can take the weight of both of them although Harry seems to be trying.

“You’re going to have us both on the floor.” Nick sits up, straddling the sun lounger and meeting Harry’s eyes at last. He pushes his sunglasses onto his head. Harry already has his up, holding back the quiffy thing he’s grown at the front of his hair. “Which is the last thing I need. I’m an old man with a horrible hangover. I’m not up for rolling around on terracotta.”

“There’s always your _bed_.” Harry stares at Nick for a moment and then he stands. For one minute, Nick thinks Harry’s going to tug him off to bed and Nick isn’t sure he’s going to be able to say no. Instead, Harry runs for the pool and jumps. His limbs flail and he’s definitely not diving or dive bombing. He just jumps straight in – sunglasses and everything – in a gangly mess of limbs and with his feet kicking out at weird angles. It makes that hole in Nick’s heart widen – that twinge of the fractures that don’t quite heal knife through him. _Harry_. Nick’s so in love with Harry fucking Styles. Like _in love_. Proper putting petals on the bed, violins playing a concerto kind of shit. It’s horrible, really. Horrible because Harry’s young and not in love, he’s just used to Nick being able to mess around with his friends and come back from it without leaving any wreckage. It’s different with Harry. Always has been.

Nick decides a bit of cold water might be just what he needs to sober himself up and turn him into a sensible adult who can tell Harry _no_. He jumps in the pool with a bit more finesse than Harry and dunks himself below the water, shoving his glasses on the side when he surfaces for air. He splutters a bit and bobs around before Harry emerges from under the water, just in front of him. He shakes his head like he’s a dog and he laughs so loudly it makes Nick want to kiss him. He wants to taste Harry’s smile against his lips again and feel Harry’s body against his own. It’s been so long. It’s been too long.

“Nice pool,” Harry says. His grabby hands clutch onto Nick’s waist and Nick’s fairly certain he’s being peddled backwards against the wall of the pool. He blames his lack of resistance on being generally bad at sports and terrible at swimming.

“Isn’t it?” Nick puts his hands on Harry, hauling him close. It makes Harry gasp in a very satisfying way. “A bit pointless putting that sun tan lotion on. You’ll have to do it again when we get out.”

“Maybe that was my plan.” Harry’s cheeks turn pink and he finally gets Nick positioned in a way that makes him huff with satisfaction. “I don’t mind.”

“Of course you don’t mind.” Nick leans in and bites down lightly on Harry’s neck. “That’s because you’re a perverted little popstar, darling. You’ll do anything to get your hands on my body when I’m old, helpless and just trying to sleep off a hangover.”

“I…just taking advantage of the situation.” Harry sounds breathless and he presses against Nick, hard in his shorts. He tips his neck back a bit to allow Nick’s biting to turn into kissing – licking away the droplets of water and perspiration from Harry’s throat. “Better not get jizz in the pool.”

“Such a romantic.” Nick works his hand into Harry’s hair – wet, tangled and curling at the nape of his neck. “I’m sure I can control myself.” He pushes into Harry, grinding against him and spreading his hand over Harry’s backside to keep him close. “The question is, can you?”

Harry groans, low in his throat. He rubs himself against Nick as he kisses him. Nick’s hangover has gone completely – the sunshine, hair of the dog and Harry’s persistence finally forcing him out of his post-wedding stupor. There’s still something surreal about this, though. There’s something odd about kissing Harry when they’re not in the middle of a big city somewhere. It’s so private and secluded up in the hills in Mallorca, Nick can’t help but wonder if this is just a holiday fling. A holiday fling with one of his best friends. The best friend Nick’s completely head over arsing heels in love with.

“Is this just a holiday fling?” He asks, eventually, when the kissing starts to make his lips tingle and he can feel Harry getting close to the edge.

“What?” Harry stares at Nick, his eyes wide and dark with arousal. He frowns at Nick. “ _No_.”

“Just not sure how it’s going to work.” Nick taps his finger lightly on Harry’s nose. He smooths back Harry’s hair back and kisses his frown. “You’re off on tour soon. You added more dates. I’m still going to be in London and I’ve used up most of my holiday allowance already.”

“With me,” Harry notes. He looks proud, his chest puffed out. Nick’s heart swells. He tickles Harry’s sides.

“Only with you for a bit. Besides, I was there for Jimmy Fallon.”

Harry pokes Nick and squirms away from his hands, his frown replaced with a smile and a huff of laughter. “That’s alright then, because I only invited you because I wanted to spend time with your mum.”

“Quality time with Eileen, that was.” Nick stops tickling and pulls Harry close against him. “Plus, you’ve only been here for a day and you’re off again soon. Already causing trouble.”

“I’ll come to Glastonbury.” Harry looks enthusiastic. “You can sneak me into your tent.”

“You don’t need to sneak anywhere.” Nick snorts and presses a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Besides, not sure that’s how it works. Passes aren’t easy to get now. You might have to come on the radio. Do an acoustic set.”

“I could do that.” Harry smiles. “I’ll bring my guitar and sing around the campfire.”

The thought makes warmth unfurl in Nick’s chest. It feels too tight and it’s difficult to get the words out when he imagines Harry singing something with his eyes on Nick, for Nick’s ears only.

“Don’t. You know I’m easy for a popstar singing me songs.”

“Not easy enough.” Harry presses close to Nick again, his breath leaving him in a gasp. “Can we break in that bed of yours?”

Nick pulls himself out of the pool. He goes for elegant but it’s more like an undignified _splat_ and he sits there for a moment, dangling his legs in the water and watching Harry while the sun hits his back. It’s so warm in Mallorca. It’s so warm being with Harry again. Eventually he grabs a towel and makes his way inside, grabbing his drink as he goes.

The sound of Harry slurping his drink makes Nick turn as he checks the door is locked and puts a _do not disturb_ on the door. He has a feeling people are already not disturbing them. Most of them know there was something. Only his closest friends know the full extent of it and the way Nick relied on ice cream and booze to soothe his aching heart. He’s surprised they’re not trying to keep him and Harry apart or telling Nick what a terrible mistake it is to go back there again. Surprised, but not upset. They know Nick’s difficult to talk out of bad decisions when it comes to his love life.

“We’ll always be friends, yeah?” Nick tugs Harry close after he puts his drink down at last. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Harry’s eyes shine and he slips his hand under Nick’s trunks. “You should get out of these wet clothes.”

“You too.” Nick snaps the waistband on Harry’s trunks and rolls his eyes. “Can you stop sounding like you’re in a dirty film?”

“Probably not.” Harry shrugs, stripping off his shorts easily. He’s got no problem being naked. He’s naked far more than most people, happy to let it all hang out. Nick watches him for a minute before following suit. 

They tumble towards the bed and roll over getting the sheets all damp. The room smells like sun tan lotion and chlorine and Harry’s lips taste like the sun and his sticky-sweet cocktail. Nick pushes him back and takes charge, just like before. It’s easy, with Harry. They know one another’s tics by now, even though it’s been a while. He knows how Harry likes to be fucked, slow and deep. He knows how it feels to have Harry arch and writhe beneath him and how fucking Harry can sometimes feel a bit like drowning – with his need bubbling into his lungs and his words choking him as he tries to swallow them back. He never lets Harry see. He’s good at making jokes and talking about tomorrow in the most literal sense. They never speak in months or years. It’s always just minutes, hours and _what are you doing today?_. The thought of planning a wedding or having all that time stretch ahead of them is a luxury Nick can’t afford to dwell on at the moment. Neither of them know where they’ll be, or who they might be with at the next wedding in the sun.

“Missed you.” Harry mouths the words against Nick’s neck, his legs parting for Nick as Nick slides a slow finger inside him. “ _Fuck_ , yes. Missed you so much.”

“Me too, popstar.” Nick leaves it at that. Doesn’t say how much he’s missed Harry or for how long. Doesn’t want Harry to know he’s always missing him, when Harry’s not around. Even his dogs notice when Harry’s been over and Nick’s got a week which stretches ahead of him when Harry leaves again. They curl up next to him and paw at him as if to say, _you’ve still got us_. 

“Glastonbury, then?”

“Glastonbury. Fucking under the stars.” Harry pushes against Nick’s fingers and he pushes at his arm. “Come on, I don’t need it. I’m ready. I want you.”

 _You’ve got me_ , Nick thinks. _You’ve already got me. Always have, always will_.

He slides his fingers from Harry. There was a time he would take it slow and bring Harry off just like that. He would suck Harry down or let Harry fuck him, taking it steady and watching Nick with wide eyes and his curly hair all over the place. He would draw out the moment and delay the moment of climax for as long as he could – just watching Harry lose himself in pleasure. He would look at Harry’s flushed cheeks and the way his cock would twitch with pleasure and leak with being so close for so long. _I did that_ , Nick would think. _I did that_.

“Ready?” Nick asks after sliding on a condom and lubing himself liberally. Harry’s tight and Nick wants to ask if he’s done this a lot, since Nick. He probably has. It’s been a long time after all and they were never the best at fidelity – never good at waiting around and being alone.

“Yeah, ready. Come on, come on.” Harry turns over and wiggles at Nick, getting himself up into a very fuckable position on his hands and knees. Nick knows, then. Knows Harry wants it hard. Knows he wants to _feel it for the rest of the day_. He remembers the times they’d fuck like this. When Harry was leaving the next day. When they tried to make the weekends last as long as possible. When every hour felt like their last. Nick swallows around the lump in his throat and he grips Harry’s hips. With a groan, he pushes into Harry. He doesn’t give him much time to adjust. He just pushes in hard as Harry shouts and grips onto the sheets. Then he moves. He gives Harry what he knows he wants, with deep thrusts and the odd moment of rocking and grinding just so he can taste Harry’s sun-warm skin. He fucks him as if it’s their last chance and tries not to think that perhaps, this time, it really is. 

“You’re…” Nick’s words falter and he thinks about saying _tight_ or something about Harry wanting this so much. _You like it, don’t you? You love it when I’m inside you_. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. He can’t because the words rolling around in his head are _you’re the love of my life. You’re the love of my fucking life._ Nick scrabbles for the lube and puts some on his hand, slick over Harry’s cock. He wanks him until he can see the shudder travel through Harry’s body and feel Harry clenching around him. With a groan, Nick slips out of Harry and nudges him onto his back.

“Like this?” Harry’s voice is slow and sleepy.

“That’ll do.” Nick rubs his thumb against Harry’s cheek. He shifts up and straddles Harry. He strokes himself until he’s right on the edge and then he comes, all over his own fist and on Harry’s chin and lips. With Harry flushed pink and smiling up at Nick like he’s got everything he wants right there, it almost hurts to breathe.

“Messy,” Harry says.

“Very.” Nick slides his thumb over Harry’s lips and sits back, letting Harry taste him as he takes Nick’s thumb into his mouth and licks it. Eventually, Nick grabs a flannel and gives it to Harry after rinsing it in the sink. He switches on the shower and steps inside, letting the moment wash from his skin.

When he finishes, Harry’s curled up in Nick’s bed. He’s clutching a pillow tight against his chest and his snores are soft and low. Nick shifts beside him. It’s too warm to sleep. He’s too on edge to drift off, even as his headache returns and the sensation of coming inside Harry still pulses through him. He leans across and places a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. Harry mumbles something that sounds like _love a sloth_.

Nick laughs even though his eyes prick with tears. He traces his name on Harry’s arm and rubs his nose against Harry’s skin. He smells like chlorine, sweat and Nick’s cologne. It’s been so long since Harry’s skin smelt like Nick. So long since Nick was close enough to touch him.

“I love you, Harold.” He mutters into the silence of the room as the bold rays of sun filter through the open patio door. They probably should have closed that. It’s high enough up that nobody would have heard, Nick reckons. Hopefully. He says it again, just because he can, because Harry isn’t awake to hear him. “Love you.”

Harry mumbles again, more about sloths. He snores a bit louder and Nick pokes him until the snores gentle and the room is still but for Harry’s breathing and the thoughts racing through Nick’s mind. He rummages through the mini bar and finds a half bottle of prosecco which he opens with a pop. He puts on a clean pair of trunks and then washes their wet ones, leaving them out on one of the sun loungers to soak up the sun. He jumps into the water. It’s still deliciously cold, despite the heat of the sun. He wonders what it might be like, in another world, in another time. With Harry smiling at him like his heart’s so full and Nick looking back promising _I do, I do, I always do, always did_.

Nick puts on his sunglasses and pours himself a drink. He looks up at the sky and lets the sun hit his face, warming him through. Just for a moment, he allows himself to dream. He allows himself a _maybe, just maybe_ and imagines the fairy lights, the fairy tale and himself at the altar. He takes a sip of his drink with Harry’s kisses fresh on his lips. It tastes like the kind of future that only ever really happens in dreams.

Nick puts his glass down and spreads himself out on the water, floating and trying not to look straight at the sun. 

_Fin_


End file.
